


Painting Flowers

by buckysbbs



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Adulthood, Autism, Dreams, Fluff, Identity Issues, Infodumping and Stimming, Light Angst, M/M, Magical Realism, Mangaka Bokuto, Muteness, NO ABLEISM in this house we support neurodivergency, Pining, Self-Acceptance, Self-Discovery, Sign Language, Slow Burn, Surrealism, but only for like two paragraphs in ch 4 lmao, descriptions of a meltdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:22:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29516643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckysbbs/pseuds/buckysbbs
Summary: Akaashi Keiji dreams of a man with golden eyes, but no matter how hard he tries he always forgets about it in the morning.Bokuto Koutarou has always felt a part of him was missing, but no matter what he does he can't ever seem to find himself.And then they meet, and worlds collide in dreams and inside an old television.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 16
Kudos: 25





	1. the dream isn't done

**Author's Note:**

> Hellooo once again!  
> As with my first fic, I've already written out this entire fic so it's just a matter of editing it and posting it... I'll try to keep it as fast as possible but y'know... MIDTERMS lol anyways hope you enjoy!

There is an old television that stands right in the center of Keiji’s bedroom.

He doesn’t really know how it got there, if he’s being honest. All he knows is that it’s been there for as long as he can remember — which is, for as long as he’s been living in the old, run-down house he calls a home — which is about 20 years or so, give or take a few months.

The Akaashi family moved there when he was six, and he just never left. There was never any reason to do so, and with everything he’s accumulated over the years, it’s easier to just stay.

For as long as he’s stayed there, though, he’s never once tried to turn the old TV on, not even when he was a curious little bugger. His parents never even mentioned it, not once, but for some reason he always had a feeling that he’d be better off just never touching it.

Keiji lets it stand there for another day.

*

_ Keiji _ .

The boy in front of him is familiar. Keiji has seen him so many times, and he always forgets but every time he looks at the other he remembers and promises himself that, this time, he’ll remember. But he never does.

The boy feels like the warmth of a childhood memory — when Keiji was six and he was in his friend’s computer room, the two of them watching Naruto or videos about cool cars and eating his mother’s homemade bento —, and he sounds like the loud thunder hitting the window of his car, the flashing lightning in front of him and around him and making him wonder if this is the last thing he’ll ever hear—

_ Akaashi. _

The boy has white hair that’s spiked into oblivion, but his roots are already growing. His eyes are big and wide and golden but he doesn’t look like a foreigner, and he doesn’t meet Keiji’s eyes when he tries to look into them.

_ You have to find me _ , the boy says.  _ We don’t have time. _

Keiji blinks. He knows he’s dreaming, subconsciously, but right now this is reality and reality is confusing. Where is he?— A volleyball court. Empty. 

Only Keiji and the boy stand, one on each side of the court, looking at each other with a net in between them.

He tries to go past it, to get closer to the boy, but with every step he takes, the net starts moving, the boy moving with it, like it’s avoiding him. Like it’s playing him.

_ Akaashi, find me! _

_ Who are you? _ , he asks, but he doesn’t know if he really asks because he can’t feel himself. His lips form the words and the air takes them away. 

His mind form the words but his hands don’t move.

_ My name— _

*

The thing about it is that Keiji never remembers his dreams.

And if he never remembers, then he never dwells on that boy, and he never tries to find him. He goes about his daily life as usual, as if nothing’s wrong, and every time he dreams he laments the fact that he never remembers, and then he wakes up and still doesn’t remember. Like a paradox where the only conflict is his own mind, and he’s losing either way.

At 26, he leads a content life simply existing. As the editor of a shonen manga magazine, he gets to work with things he (more or less) enjoys while at the same time earning a living wage, and it’s all he could ask for. Long gone are the days when he used to have ambitions and aspirations — now all he asks for is a warm bed and some good food, occasionally.

His closest friends are his two neighbors, Tsukishima and Shimizu, whom he sometimes invites over when his place isn’t too dirty. He’d met Shimizu while taking the subway home one day, and ever since then the two of them had come home together. Neither of them will say it, but both feel just a bit safer with the other around. They live in an isolated neighborhood in Kiyose and are lucky enough to both work in the Shibuya area.

Tsukishima is a bit more complicated. Keiji and Tsukishima have known each other since high school, but they were never close despite the younger being hard of hearing and being one of the only people in their high school to know JSL fluently. After graduating, though, the two only met up after university, with the blond looking for a place to stay in Tokyo and Keiji’s neighbor happening to be moving out. Even now, Keiji can’t say the two of them are best friends in the conventional way — they don’t agree on most things, and their personalities are similar enough to clash most of the time —, but he loves the blond and he’s sure Tsukishima feels the same way.

Shimizu and Tsukishima are also the only people in their neighborhood who can speak JSL fluently.

This morning, Keiji walks Shimizu to her workplace and the two part ways. His building is quite a bit far from hers, but he appreciates the walk and he feels better knowing she’s safe. After all, Shimizu is a very beautiful woman, and there are more than enough scum in Tokyo to take advantage of that.

When he reaches his own building, he presents his ID and nods a hello at Haiba-san, the secretary who keeps track of everyone’s times.

He rides the elevator alone up until the 8th floor.

“Akaashi-senpai,” Hinata says, bowing politely. “Good morning.”

Keiji nods at him. The two of them are coworkers, both on the 15th floor, but he knows the younger is always on the 8th because he has a weird friendship-rivalry with one of the guys there. Keiji has the suspicion that Hinata is dating the young dark-haired man on the 8th, but he’s not too sure, and it’s none of his business to ask.

The two of them arrive on their floor and go to their respective jobs. Hinata works in the marketing department, while his maybe-boyfriend Kageyama works as an editor in the literature field — Keiji’s dream job. 

Keiji goes straight to work, wasting no time. One of the authors they work with has missed his deadline to submit the new issue (yet again, Kuroo-san), and there are three covers he needs to look over and decide on by the end of this week. Another one of their titles isn’t doing too well in terms of sales, so he’ll need to have a meeting with the Director and the other editors to decide what they’ll do — to keep or not to keep it going. It’s a damn shame, too, ‘cause the work is one of his personal favorites.

Another day, another dollar.

*

This time, they’re both standing in an empty high school classroom. It looks way too neat to be Keiji’s old high school, so he figures it’s some random high school his mind has come up with. There are no names on the lockers, and the blackboard is so black it doesn’t feel like anyone’s ever written on there before.

The boy in front of him has white spiky hair and Keiji once again recognizes him from his previous dreams. He’s lost count of how many times this has happened.

_ Akaashi _ , the boy says. He’s sitting down on one of the seats, his body turned toward the blackboard and only his head facing Keiji.  _ I’m here _ .

_ Where is here? _ , Keiji thinks, but doesn’t say.

_ Why did you call me? _ , the boy asks, frowning.  _ Why are you here? _

Keiji returns his frown.  _ You told me to find you _ .

He doesn’t speak — he can’t, after all, and that won’t change even in his dreams. Being mute isn’t something that bothers him too much — he’s long past his self-loathing stage —, and it’s helped him learn more about who he is and who others are.

The boy still understands him, somehow.

_ You found me _ , he says.  _ And then you left. Over and over again, you keep leaving _ .

If Keiji had to describe his voice, he wouldn’t know how to. It’s soft, but it’s very loud, and it’s distinct — maybe if he heard it out there, in the real world, maybe he’d finally recall—

_ You always leave, Keiji _ , the boy says, and it sounds wrong.

His hair turns whiter, even at the roots, and the boy suddenly looks much, much older: there are wrinkles on his face, a short and wispy beard on his chin, his eyelids heavier.

_ We ran out of time _ , the boy says.  _ It’s too late now _ .

Keiji takes a step forward, but the dream goes away and he wakes up.

*

The author of ‘The Ace’ goes by the pseudonym Fukuro Kaku, and Keiji himself has only spoken to him a handful of times — only when the other editor, Konoha, was unavailable. Keiji is great at written communication, but apparently Fukuro-san prefers to talk via phone, which is why Konoha is the main editor responsible for ‘The Ace’.

Konoha, however, is on vacation with his girlfriend, so it’s up to Keiji to contact Fukuro-san and tell him what’s happening: either he kills off a certain character (one of Keiji’s personal favorites), or the publisher will drop his works in the very near future. 

He really,  _ really _ wishes he’d have gotten the position for literature instead.

Keiji sends out the email in the morning, but it takes Fukuro-san the whole afternoon to come up with an answer, and he only gets a reply at night, when he gets home from work. It’s a Friday, too, so he won’t be able to meet with this guy until Monday, probably.

And because it’s Friday, that means it’s movie night.

“I brought the popcorn,” Tsukishima says, in that same bored tone he always speaks in. “It’s your turn to pick the movie, Akaashi.”

_ Shoplifters? _ , he signs.  _ I heard it’s good. _

The blond shrugs. “Whatever.”

The two of them wait for Shimizu as they put the popcorn into the microwave.

“I made some yakisoba this morning,” Tsukishima says. “Yamaguchi said it was good. I can bring you some later if you want.”

_ That would be great _ . Keiji nods.  _ How is your project going? _

Tsukishima works as a museum curator in Koto, and in their last movie night the blond mentioned the project he and his co-workers were working on: developing a virtual tour of the museum, complete with subtitles and interpreters so that those who were unable to attend could still explore a bit of the culture there.

Keiji had been very happy to see his friend taking this initiative, and he’d agreed to help the blond with some of the interpretation.

“We’re still trying to get it approved by the Exec Board.” The two of them sigh. “Yamaguchi says they won’t reject it if I show them that it’s easy and costs practically nothing, so right now we’re just waiting on the platform to get their price.”

_ I could also ask some of our artists to create some nice graphics for your design. _

“That’d be great.”

The microwave beeps and they take out the bag and let some of the hot air out.

“I’m going back home for a few days next month.”

Keiji raises an eyebrow. Tsukishima hasn’t gone to Miyagi in a while, because of his strained relationship with his brother, so for him to suddenly announce this is a bit alarming.

_ Did something happen? _

“High school reunion,” Tsukishima says. “Did you not get the invite?”

Keiji frowns.  _ I haven’t checked. _

The blond nods like that’s reasonable, but they both know Keiji probably wasn’t invited. He didn’t have many friends in high school — again due to the lack of JSL speakers —, but neither did Tsukishima… so unless the blond is lying to him (unlikely), then he probably has to deal with the fact that his old high school classmates forgot he existed.

It doesn’t bother him too much.

“I’ll check with Yamaguchi,” the blond says. “He kept in touch with the others, so he was probably the only reason they still remembered me.”

Although Tsukishima and Keiji are from different prefectures in Japan, they still went to the same high school in Miyagi. Keiji’s parents were going through a divorce at the time, and his mom ended up with the rights to her only child, so he moved to Miyagi with her, but then she died, and he came back to Tokyo to live with his dad.

_ How is he? _ Keiji asks, referring to Yamaguchi-san. He knows him from high school, but mostly through Tsukishima. The two of them have hung out a few times, but not enough for it to last very long.

Before the blond can answer, Shimizu knocks on Keiji’s door, and all conversation of high school ends there.

They watch the movie quietly in his living room, the three of them snacking on popcorn and paying full attention to the movie, and then it’s over, and they say goodbye.

As Keiji lies in bed that night, he smiles.

Today was a fun day.

*

They’re on the top floor of someone’s house.

The sky is clear and blue and the clouds are pretty, and there’s a swimming pool next to Keiji. He thinks that whoever owns this house is very rich, to be able to afford a pool on the top floor, but as he looks around nothing else quite catches his attention: there are stairs on the corner, three sun loungers next to him, and not much else.

The boy with white hair is sitting in one of them.

_ You have to talk to them _ , he says, as if continuing a previous conversation.

Keiji, somehow, knows what he’s talking about, and signs back:  _ They won’t listen _ .

_ They will! _ The boy gives him an exasperated look.  _ If you just try to talk to them, Akaashi. _

They’re talking, of course, about Keiji’s parents. His parents, who don’t know who he is anymore, who are both working abroad and are away from Japan ten out of the twelve months of the year, and it’s sad and lonely at the same time.

He frowns.  _ What if they don’t understand? _

_ You won’t know until you try _ , the boy says.  _ As soon as they come home from dinner. _

Keiji sighs and nods. He doesn’t know where his parents went — except he does, because this is a dream and his mind supplies that they’ve gone out to dinner with their respective partners on the most awkward double date possible —, but he knows they won’t be home at least for a few hours.

That gives him plenty of time to organize his thoughts.

His parents don’t know he’s gay, and they don’t know that he doesn’t wanna go into finance after all, and they don’t know that he doesn’t like certain members of their family because they’re small-minded. They have an image of who Keiji is, in their head, that has little in common with the  _ real _ Keiji.

The first step in severing that image is to come out, but… is he ready? After all, he’s still 18, still dependent on them financially, still dependent on them emotionally… he can’t afford to be kicked out. Not that he thinks they’d do that, but still…

His dad is more complicated, too. The man has made no effort to hide his conservative views of the world, and it’s severely strained their relationship. Really, the only blessing is that Keiji has gone to live with his mother and not his dad. Seeing him for two weeks during the holidays is much better than living with him and his less-than-agreeable personality.

_ You don’t have to come out _ , the boy says, and Keiji turns to look at him.  _ You can just tell them that you’re re-thinking your career, or something. _

Keiji nods. He appreciates the help his friend is giving him, but in the end it’s really up to himself to decide what’s best.

The sky holds little answer, too.

The clouds are moving, the color greying, and there’s a plane flying by.

Keiji stares at the plane for a while. It’s white and it moves so slowly, much more slowly than is safe for an airplane of that size, but he appreciates it because it gives him more time. If he pretends everything is normal, then he can pretend the plane is moving at a normal speed, and he can pretend he has more time to deal with everything than he actually does.

He used to be afraid of planes when he was younger. To an extent, he still is: the sound of planes passing by him, so far away and so unreachable, powerful enough to drop anything on him and on the people he loves, always makes him tense. It’s not until he’s sure the planes are far enough away that he allows himself to relax once again.

This plane gives him the same feeling, but since it’s slow and quiet Keiji allows himself to look and wonder.

_ Akaashi _ , the boy says.

It startles him back to real time, and he sees that the boy is looking older again. He’s not wrinkly-old, but he still looks about… 30. It unsettles Keiji, because the boy was his friend and now he’s a stranger and he doesn’t like this one bit—

“Keiji.”

Keiji blinks, and the boy is gone into thin air.

The pool’s gone, too, as are the chairs and everything else. Instead, it’s just him and his dad, standing in his mom’s house in downtown Miyagi.

“My boy…” His dad says, and Keiji realizes too late that the man is shaking. “Keiji.”

_ What’s wrong? _ Keiji asks.

“It’s your mother.”

*

On Monday, Fukuro-san gives Keiji his private email, allowing them to be less formal. According to the author, the main obstacle he faces in sending emails is the formality of it all, which is something he’s apparently not very good at. Keiji himself has adapted to many forms of written communication, so he finds he doesn’t mind either way.

He sends the email warning Fukuro-san of the ill fate of his beloved character in the morning, and it takes less than a few minutes for the author to respond.

From:  [ fukuro_kaku@yahoo.co.jp ](mailto:fukurodani@yahoo.co.jp)

To:  [ akaashi.keiji@setmedia.co.jp ](mailto:akaashi.keiji@setmedia.co.jp)

Subject: Re: ‘The Ace’ Executive Decision

Akaashi-san! Please don’t make me do this! Toshio-san is one of the series’ best characters, I know he’s not very popular with the audience but his character arc is the next one on the timeline and Konoha-san knows this if you can talk to him about this and please give Toshio-san one more chance I promise he won’t disappoint!

Keiji honestly doesn’t know how to answer that, so he keeps it short and precise:

From:  [ akaashi.keiji@setmedia.co.jp ](mailto:akaashi.keiji@setmedia.co.jp)

To:  [ fukuro_kaku@yahoo.co.jp ](mailto:fukuro_kaku@yahoo.co.jp)

Subject: Re: Re: ‘The Ace’ Executive Decision

Dear Fukuro-san,

I apologize, but the Directors have already made a decision. I will try to negotiate with them during the next board meeting to see if they are willing to reach another settlement.

Have a good rest of your day,

Akaashi Keiji.

He receives no response, but he is slightly disappointed when he meets with the Directors and they show him little sympathy.

“Tell Fukuro-san it’s his ass on the line,” they tell him, their exact words shinier and prettier but cutting sharper than a knife.

Keiji sends out another email to Fukuro-san and works on other things. The author doesn’t give him any response, which is pretty rude, but he thinks little of it and moves on.

And then, exactly one day later, Konoha-san sends him an email from his vacation in Peru or wherever, and tells him to deal with the Fukuro-san problem ASAP. His exact words are less civilized, annoyance at being bothered during his free time clearly shining through, but Keiji doesn’t take it to heart.

From:  [ akaashi.keiji@setmedia.co.jp ](mailto:akaashi.keiji@setmedia.co.jp)

To:  [ fukuro_kaku@yahoo.co.jp ](mailto:fukuro_kaku@yahoo.co.jp)

Subject: Re: Re: Re: ‘The Ace’ Executive Decision

Dear Fukuro-san,

It has come to my attention that you are dissatisfied with my work. I apologize for any bother I may have caused you, but I ask you to please stop contacting my co-worker Konoha. He is on vacation with his girlfriend and I am not, so unfortunately we must deal with matters by ourselves, at least until matters are settled.

I have spoken with the Executive Directors and they believe it best if you kill off Toshio-san. We at SET Media appreciate the thought and concern you have put into your own work and into your characters, but, frankly, sales for ‘The Ace’ are at an all-time low and the Directors believe Toshio-san is one of the main reasons.

Thank you for your cooperation,

Akaashi Keiji.

From:  [ fukuro_kaku@yahoo.co.jp ](mailto:fukuro_kaku@yahoo.co.jp)

To:  [ akaashi.keiji@setmedia.co.jp ](mailto:akaashi.keiji@setmedia.co.jp)

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: ‘The Ace’ Executive Decision

Akaashi,

I understand. 

I’ll re-work the story and kill off Toshio-san.

The Directors believe it’s the best decision, but how about you?

Fukuro Kaku

From:  [ akaashi.keiji@setmedia.co.jp ](mailto:akaashi.keiji@setmedia.co.jp)

To:  [ fukuro_kaku@yahoo.co.jp ](mailto:fukuro_kaku@yahoo.co.jp)

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: ‘The Ace’ Executive Decision

I do not particularly agree with their opinion. 

I believe Toshio-san has a lot of untapped potential and I was looking forward to reading where you would be taking him, but it is neither up to me nor, unfortunately, you.

Good luck Fukuro-san.

*

Keiji is standing in front of his old university, trying to figure out where building RC-7.4 is, when someone shouts out his name.

There he is again: the boy with the spiky hair and bright smile.

“Let’s go to class together?”

Keiji nods. The two of them are taking an introductory History course together.

“I saw Kuroo this morning,” the boy says, loudly, walking side-by-side with Keiji and letting his arms dangle gleefully in the air. “He said we should all get together again, for dinner or maybe even for volleyball, you know he really liked you.”

The boy turns to him to watch him sign, his wide eyes paying very close attention to the dark-haired boy’s hands. Keiji feels like this is common for the two of them to just compliment each other like this: he knows the other has troubles with maintaining eye contact, and focusing on Keiji’s hands rather than his face as he speaks is one way to deal with this.

_ I’m free next Friday _ , he signs, and the other lets out a joyful noise.  _ I’ll invite some of my friends, too, if that’s okay? _

“Yes, Akaashi! That’s perfect!” The boy smiles big and wide, his hands even more erratic at his side. “I’ll look forward to that!”

Keiji smiles, too. His friend looks happy and excited, and he feels like it’s been a while since this happened, so he’s happy and excited, too. 

“Ah!” The boy says, suddenly, his eyes wide. “Did I tell you about the tournament last night? It was so intense! In the first set, Douglas, from Minas, got five straight points in with his serves, and then Rezende, the one from Osasco, hit his serve, and he was so  _ fast _ !”

He looks at Keiji, and though the latter doesn’t really know what to say, he still nods along and tells him,  _ Go on _ .

Somehow, the boy’s smile gets even wider.

“And then Osasco got, like, seven points straight because of Santos and Silva, who are like, the ultimate setter-and-wing-spiker combo, right?” The boy moves his hands around again, and Keiji watches him with fondness. “Seriously, Akaashi, their hits are so fast you can’t even see the ball! And then Minas picked it up again, and it went back and forth, and then it was 23 to 20, and Barreto from Minas got the set point with his feint, and everyone was wondering, ‘well where is this gonna go’, right?”

Keiji nods. The other usually speaks in an uneven rhythm, sometimes emphasizing the wrong words or emphasizing  _ most _ of the words, but when he talks about things he likes his voice becomes louder, emphasizing nearly all of the words in his sentences.

“And then Osasco got their 21, and they got their 22 again with their serve, and it was so intense that even the Minas players were messing up.” The two of them reach their building. “And then Santos missed a block, and Minas won the first set.”

The boy keeps going, even as they enter their lecture hall and wait for the professor to start his lecture. While everyone else in the room is a bit quiet, Keiji’s friend continues going on about the tournament, even as some people side-eye them.

The boy only stops talking when the professor clears his throat.

Keiji looks at him from the corner of his eye and notices his friend closing in on himself, as if suddenly realizing the looks people are giving them. It’s a stark contrast to the carefree and happy boy he was with just a few seconds ago, and it doesn’t sit right with Keiji.

_ You can tell me more later _ , he writes at the edge of his notebook, and then shifts just slightly so the other can read.

His friend isn’t at all subtle in reading the message, but it’s still worth it to see him untense his shoulders, if only a little bit.

_ I will! _ He writes.  _ Thanks, Akaashi! _

Keiji smiles softly, and the dream shifts.

It’s winter in Tokyo, and Keiji is exactly fourteen years old. His parents are fighting again, and it’s awkward because it’s supposed to be his birthday party but they’re making it awful for everyone involved.

Present-day him remembers this very day, but present-day him is dreaming and, thus, has no thoughts.

His aunt gives him his present — a book by Murakami Haruki, just like he’d asked —, and his uncle brings him a store-bought cake. Meanwhile, his parents move to their room so as to not disturb the guests, but it only makes things more awkward for Keiji, because the only person in their family who knows JSL besides them is his other aunt, who couldn’t come because of work. As a doctor, she doesn’t seem to ever not be working.

He’s turned to writing everything down, which isn’t his preferred method of communication but it’s the only one they have at the moment. Everyone sings him happy birthday and his parents finally come down, apologizing to everyone.

Keiji only gets an apology after everyone is gone and he’s helping clean up the house.

“It was about work,” his mom says. “We’re sorry, Kei-kun.”

_ It’s okay _ , he signs, and goes to his room.

The old TV is there, waiting for him.

For the first time ever, he considers turning it on. He wonders if it would even work, but it’s plugged in, so why wouldn’t it? Then he wonders if it could play a movie, or if it could play anything at all, or if it would just be static.

And then he blinks, and snaps out of it. Whatever was making him contemplate touching that old dusty TV leaves him, and he goes to bed.

Keiji doesn’t sleep, and sometime between him trying to fall and trying to stay, he sees white hair and golden eyes and there’s a  _ boy _ in his room.

_ Help me _ , the boy says, looking paler than the moon. 

Something’s wrong with him. Keiji sees it, and he doesn’t remember the boy and he doesn’t remember any of their previous dreams together, but he knows  _ that _ , at least.

The boy looks like he’s in his late 20’s, so he’s not really a ‘boy’ so much as a ‘man’, and he’s trembling and looking like he might faint at any second now.

Keiji jumps out of bed and rushes over to him. It doesn’t make sense that the boy would be inside his bedroom, because how did he even get in there?

But it doesn’t matter.

_ Please help me _ , the man says, and closes his eyes.  _ Find me, Keiji _ .

*

Keiji wakes up and, this time, he remembers his dream.

This time, he remembers the boy and he remembers the despair he felt, and he feels like something’s wrong but he doesn’t know what it is, exactly, and he wants to cry but he  _ shouldn’t _ .

It was just a dream, after all.


	2. if nothing is true

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emails and dreams-- that's the whole chapter. Idk what you were expecting lol please enjoy!

From:  [ akaashi.keiji@setmedia.co.jp ](mailto:akaashi.keiji@setmedia.co.jp)

To:  [ fukuro_kaku@yahoo.co.jp ](mailto:fukuro_kaku@yahoo.co.jp)

Subject: ‘The Ace’ Deadline

Dear Fukuro-san,

I am writing to let you know that SET Media is not happy that you have missed your deadline. As this is the first time this has happened, we are letting you go with a warning, but please keep in mind what I discussed in my previous emails: ‘The Ace’ is not doing very well, and the Directors are already discussing the prospect of dropping it. If this continues, I will be unable to help you.

Take care,

Akaashi Keiji.

*

Keiji holds onto his nagagi so he won’t accidentally step on it as they walk. It’s a hand-me-down from the Akaashi family, so it’s still a bit big on his sixteen-year-old body, which is why he’s worried it’ll fall in the first place.

Truthfully, he hadn’t wanted to wear a kimono to the Omatsuri. In this day and age, there aren’t that many people who do, but his friend had insisted. Keiji isn’t one to say no to the other’s pleading eyes and heartbroken face, so he’d agreed — though not without contempt.

His friend, on the other hand, had gone all out: dressed in a full (oversized) kimono, complete with the hakama and his spiky hair, he’s absolutely  _ glowing _ .

Keiji is elated to see him like this. He looks right in his element, having fun and being himself, and Keiji isn’t about to ruin his good mood. He may not be the most selfless person in the world, but he takes good care of those he cares about, and his friend is no exception.

They’d left their houses later than the other kids, primarily because his friend’s older sisters wanted to make sure the two of them were safe and knew all about the dangers of being out alone, especially for kids like them. Keiji knows it’s also because the Omatsuri is always very crowded in the first few hours of the festival — filled with families with screaming kids, obnoxious teenagers, and even more obnoxious teenage couples. If there’s anything he’s learned about his friend, it’s that the other doesn’t do well in loud, overwhelming places like that.

It’s better for him this way, too. He hates the  _ blatant _ staring he gets whenever people realize what’s wrong with him, and hanging out with his friend in a near-empty Omatsuri sounds way more appealing if he can actually  _ communicate _ with the other.

So the two of them leave when the festival is just about to end and go immediately towards the food stands. The other’s older sisters had kept them for too long without food, and they’re teenage boys, after all. The strong smell of the food hits his nostrils as soon as they arrive, and he can’t help his own stomach from growling.

Keiji accompanies the other towards the yakiniku stand, and then they head to get takoyaki for himself. As they do, the other tells him some interesting facts about owls, and he listens attentively in order to distract from the other’s constantly moving hands — those hands that are so strong and thick and  _ strong _ .

Once his takoyaki is done, he gets a bowl of harusame as his friend finishes his dish.

Keiji notices the other is slowing down, though. He’d been starving at first, eating his meat so fast he’d been worried for his stomach, but now he’s quieter, almost  _ sadder _ .

_ What’s wrong? _ , he asks.

The other shakes his head. “Ah, it’s…”

He looks down to the floor, his shoulders tense and up to his neck, and Keiji frowns.

“The smell…” The other nearly spits out the words. “It’s  _ strong _ .”

He raises his eyes towards Keiji, just enough to watch him sign. His body language still screams discomfort, and the younger worries that something will happen soon and he’ll upset his friend. He doesn’t know what to do.

_ We can go to the park _ , he says.  _ It’s not too far from here _ .

The other nods, and Keiji stands up. He’s also tense, but it still surprises him when his friend gently takes his hand.

“This is okay, right?” His golden eyes blink up at Keiji. “Kana-nee says I should always ask, and I’m not good at reading people, but if I focus on this then maybe I’ll get better.”

The younger nods.  _ Of course _ .

He grips his friend’s hand and waits for the other to stand up. It takes him a minute, but eventually he does, and the two of them start heading away from the Omatsuri.

Keiji focuses on the feeling of the other’s hand in his. This moment is very rare and he wants to appreciate every second of it… especially when the older keeps rubbing his fingers over his hands, softly, and the touch of skin on skin makes him yearn for  _ so much _ .

“Thanks for being so nice, Akaashi.”

The words startle him and he almost feels guilty for enjoying this moment when his friend is clearly going through something.

_ It’s no bother to me _ , he says.

The other smiles hesitantly. They’re far enough away from the festival for the smell to be gone, but still they keep walking hand-in-hand. 

Keiji had been looking forward to some of the activities in the Omatsuri, like catching goldfish or the ring toss game, but he’d mostly been looking forward to enjoying those things with his friend. Therefore, there’s no point in staying back there and leaving the other to walk home alone.

His friend’s other arm swings in the night air. “I’m a picky eater, you know? I used to not be able to eat many foods besides miso soup and rice, when I was younger, and now I’m getting better but it’s still not very good.”

Keiji purses his lips.  _ I understand _ .

“And now strong smells really make me very…  _ hng _ .” His friend makes a face and a displeased noise. “I don’t really know how to describe it, it’s just… it’s very  _ bad _ .”

_ I see. _ The other smiles.  _ Is there anything else that makes you feel bad? _

“A lot of things!” His friend frowns thoughtfully. “I don’t know, specifically… I don’t like curry, or when the miso soup is too heavy, or when the ramen is too dense… porridge is very bad, too. Anything with strong smells, I don’t like either.”

Keiji nods and keeps that in mind. He doesn’t want to be insensitive and invite the other for dinner at his house and then cook something that he doesn’t like, after all.

The two arrive at the park.

“Hey, hey, hey, Akaashi!” The boy smiles brightly, his earlier mood gone. He lets go of the younger’s hand, allowing his hands to flap around again. “You wanna go to the Temple?”

_ I didn’t know there was a temple here. _

“There is! It’s close by!” He starts shaking excitedly. “We’re already wearing kimonos, too! It’s the perfect time.”

Keiji nods, a half-smile on his lips.  _ Let’s go. _

His friend beams and the two of them walk together towards the big Temple.

As they do, Keiji tells his friend about the JSL lessons he’s teaching to young kids as an extracurricular, and in turn the other tells him about some of his friends from the clubs his sisters take him to — communities for autistic kids and teens just like him.

It’s interesting to hear about it all. Keiji is immensely happy that the other has other friends like him, though a bit jealous that he himself doesn’t have the same thing. It’s his own fault, he knows; it’s not like he’s the only mute boy in Tokyo, much less in Japan, but he’s not as outgoing as his friend. He’d much rather stay by himself than approach other people, even if they’re mute like him.

He says as much, but before the other can reply they arrive at the Temple.

It’s almost like the dream shifts as the night gets darker, and suddenly Keiji thinks this isn’t such a good idea anymore.

First it’s snakes, because Keiji hates snakes and he hates the way they slither and slide and hiss. He hates the way they can swallow him whole even being five inches thin, and he hates the way they can jump and fly and strangle him.

There are snakes everywhere — on the walls, on the ground, around the two of them — and they hiss at him with so much hatred that he wants to cry.

But he doesn’t do that, and the snakes stop hissing, and the dream keeps shifting. Next to Keiji, the boy isn’t quite relaxed, but he doesn’t look terrified.

He gently taps his friend’s shoulder, catching his attention.

_ Can I hold your hand? _ He asks.

“Oh!” The boy’s eyes widen, and he looks away. “Uhm…”

Keiji waves his hand in front of him, making him turn back to him once again.

_ It’s okay if not _ , he signs.  _ I’m just a bit scared. _

“No—” His friend rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. “It’s just, I’m… It was okay a second ago, but now it’s just  _ not good _ .”

_ It’s alright if you aren’t comfortable. _

“Ah.” The boy smiles, a bit hesitant and afraid. “Yeah.”

Keiji smiles back at him. This eases the other just a bit.

After the snakes, it’s clowns. 

Keiji’s never been one to be afraid of clowns, thankfully, but this one is particularly terrifying: the dream takes them through the open mouth of a clown with moving eyes, and then there’s a small drop and the dream shifts and Keiji is falling through the dark night sky.

There’s no one to catch him when he lands on the cold concrete, but his bones tingle just a bit. It’s just a dream, after all. His friend is nowhere to be seen anymore.

Keiji stays down, staring at the sky. It’s dark and his vision is blurry, but he still makes out the silhouette of airplanes. Their sound is also quite distinctive.

One passes by him and he tenses, but nothing happens.

_ Akaashi! _

Someone takes him by the arm and practically yanks him up. Keiji’s not light by any means, but the strength of the boy is nothing to laugh at.

_ We have to go! _

The white-haired boy starts running away, still gripping his arms with a tight grip, and Keiji follows him. He doesn’t know what’s going on, and with both his arms preoccupied he can’t even ask.

The two of them run past the streets of Edogawa towards who-knows-where, Keiji’s never been past this point and he doesn’t think his friend has, either, but before he can question it he feels the earth tremble and the sky darken.

The boy stops running and looks behind Keiji, who follows his gaze.

An explosion in one of the buildings they just passed. There’s smoke and fire covering some of the view of the sky, and Keiji doesn’t know what happened.

Another plane passes by them, the sound of something from one of his nightmares, and then his friend is launching himself at Keiji, the two of them falling onto the street as an explosive lands extremely close to them.

Keiji curses and turns to check on his friend, intent on seeing if he’s been injured.

There’s no one there.

He looks around him, past the smoke and the fire, desperate to find his friend, to no avail.

When Keiji looks up, he sees balloons falling down, too.

*

From:  [ akaashi.keiji@setmedia.co.jp ](mailto:akaashi.keiji@setmedia.co.jp)

To:  [ fukuro_kaku@yahoo.co.jp ](mailto:fukuro_kaku@yahoo.co.jp)

Subject: ‘The Ace’ Issue #142

Dear Fukuro-san,

I have not heard from you in two days, and frankly I am concerned for the future of your manga. We still require you to submit this week’s issue, and if this is not possible we ask you to at least warn us so we can prepare accordingly. As it is now, I am barely able to keep the Directors happy with you, so please, Fukuro-san, just send me anything.

Look forward to hearing from you,

Akaashi Keiji.

From:  [ akaashi.keiji@setmedia.co.jp ](mailto:akaashi.keiji@setmedia.co.jp)

To:  [ kuroo.tetsurou@setmedia.co.jp ](mailto:kuroo.tetsurou@setmedia.co.jp)

Subject: ‘Nekoma’ Issue #76

Dear Kuroo-san,

I hope this email finds you well. I am writing to inform you that you have missed the deadline for your submission of ‘Nekoma’ Issue #76. I have spoken with the Directors and SET Media is willing to extend the deadline until this Saturday, but please, Kuroo-san, understand that this is already the fifth time you have missed a deadline.

Furthermore, I am wondering if you have heard from Fukuro Kaku-san. He is not replying to my emails and he has also missed his deadline, and Konoha tells me the two of you know each other. If it is not too much trouble, would you mind contacting him for me?

Sincerely,

Akaashi Keiji.

*

Keiji stands in front of a blank flower, in a green garden, in a red palace.

He takes his brush and dips it into the paint, all the way down until his fingertips are nearly red, and brings it up. Gently, he starts coloring the flower, and then another, and then another, and then another.

They’re roses, he realizes. They weren’t roses before.

The paint in his dream works in a way that it doesn’t drip onto the green leaves, only coloring what it’s supposed to color and nothing else. It’s kind of like a computer game, and it’s oddly satisfying to watch as he continues on his routine: blank flower, red rose. Blank flower, red rose. Blank flower, red rose.

Blank flower, red rose.

_ You missed one. _

Keiji blinks up at the taller boy. He recognizes him — a  _ friend _ .

He looks down at the flower the boy is referring to, and indeed he missed one, right at the bottom of the bushes.

_ Sorry about that _ , the boy says, as Keiji paints that one.  _ This is all kinda my fault… I ordered the wrong flowers by mistake. _

Keiji stands back up and leaves his brush on the paint can so his hands are free.  _ It’s alright. I don’t mind _ .

He startles when he meets the boy’s wide eyes. It’s not common for the other not to look away from eye contact, and it’s even rarer for him to stare so shamelessly at Keiji, his eyes wandering and fascinated.

_ You’re here _ , the boy says.

The taller’s fingers are fidgeting, and Keiji stares at them for a second; they’re beautiful fingers, lean and strong. Perfect for painting, or hat-making, or maybe even instrument-playing.

_ What’s your name? _ Keiji signs.

The boy swallows, and finally looks away from him. Keiji thinks it’s a shame — he quite enjoyed the other’s stare on him.

_ Bokuto _ , the boy says, with some hesitation.  _ And… and you? _

Keiji blinks. Maybe the other doesn’t remember him, or maybe this is the first time they’re actually meeting, but he hadn’t expected the other to not know his name. After all, in all his months of dreaming, there’s never been one instance where he didn’t.

_ A-ka-a-shi _ . Keiji hesitates, and then signs again:  _ Ke-i-ji. _

_ Nice to meet you, Akaashi! _ Bokuto smiles wide, but makes no move to approach him. His arms are dangling at his sides again, and Keiji is glad because it means he’s happier now.  _ Do you need help? _

Keiji nods.  _ I’ll go get you another brush _ —

_ No need! _ Bokuto takes a brush out from his suit.  _ I have one here. _

The shorter is curious as to why he has a paintbrush in his suit, but he doesn’t get the chance to ask. As soon as Bokuto takes it out, Keiji feels the presence of other people surrounding them.

He looks around, but he can’t make out anyone’s face — they’re all just bodies of people, with no discernable features except for that they’re completely  _ normal _ .

All of them stare at Keiji and Bokuto.

_ Come with us _ , they all say, with their eyes and in their minds.

He chances a look at his friend, but the taller is too preoccupied tensing to notice him. Bokuto is looking down at the ground, his shoulders rigid, his hands trembling.

Keiji thinks. He won’t touch the other, because that’ll only make things worse, and if he tries to get his attention with a wave it might startle him and also make things worse.

He needs to get rid of the cause: these people.

_ I’ll go _ , he signs, staring at them all.

They understand him, because this is his dream and his  _ mind _ , and their circle of people quickly becomes two lines of people, with enough space in between them for Keiji to walk through. Like a king and his people.

_ Akaashi Keiji _ , they say.

His name doesn’t sound nearly as sweet on their lips.

With one last glance backwards at Bokuto, who’s as still as a statue, Keiji steps in between their two lines and walks towards the unknown.

Keiji stands in front of a blank flower, in a green garden, in a red mansion.

That’s about all he can make of the painting; the colors are blurred together and the touch of orange there could very well be either a person or a statue, or something else he can’t think of. He thinks the blue is the sky, but it could very well be the ocean, the mansion underwater or maybe not a mansion at all.

The only clear image is the flower, that’s clearly been carefully left blank, neither painted white nor black nor grey nor any other color. Keiji looks hard and he’s noticed the thin layer of paint that surrounds the flower, meaning the artist deliberately left it like that.

It could be a rose, he thinks. Either a rose or another flower similar to it.

The painting is almost  _ messy _ , in a way — there are no borders between things, and for all he knows the artist could have painted outside the lines of his outline, and the audience would have no way of knowing. Nothing about it feels deliberate except for the flower.

The blank flower.

_ What more can I do? _ is the title of the artwork.

“What are you thinking?”

Keiji startles at the voice, but quickly relaxes. It’s just Bokuto.

He tilts his head, as if thinking.  _ I don’t understand it. _

The other’s face falls. It breaks Keiji’s heart a little, and he doesn’t understand what he did to make Bokuto look so sad.

“It might be…” the other says, his eyes shifting towards the painting. His fists are clenched. “It’s a flower.”

_ Yes _ , Keiji signs, eyebrows furrowed.  _ But everything else about it… and even the flower. I don’t know what they are — is it a rose or another flower? Is that a mansion behind it or a palace? Is the blue the sky or the ocean? _

Bokuto hums thoughtfully. “I think it’d be pretty boring if it was just… a flower, and a mansion, and the sky.”

Keiji nods, agreeing.  _ Indeed _ .

“Maybe that’s the point, right?” The taller sighs, and looks away from the painting. “If it’s here in the exposition, then it’s gotta be better than that — like, philosophical or something. So maybe the point is to just leave it up to the person.”

_ Or _ , Keiji signs, _ maybe it’s indeed just as boring and straightforward as we think, but the people who organized the exhibition didn’t want to look like uncultured fools, so they put up the painting in the name of art. _

This succeeds in bringing a smile back to the other’s face. Keiji’s almost proud. It’s not like him to speak so much… 

“You’re so smart, Akaashi!”

Keiji smirks, brushing the other off.  _ Come on. Let’s go see another one _ .

“Ah,” Bokuto says, moving his arms around. “Okay!”

*

From:  [ akaashi.keiji@setmedia.co.jp ](mailto:akaashi.keiji@setmedia.co.jp)

To:  [ fukuro_kaku@yahoo.co.jp ](mailto:fukuro_kaku@yahoo.co.jp)

Subject: ‘The Ace’ Final Executive Decision

Dear Fukuro-san,

It has been nearly a week since my first unanswered email, and SET Media is not happy with you. I have tried to contact you by other means, which I obtained thanks to Konoha, who is very unhappy with both me and you. However, it seems something has happened, which is the only excuse my Directors will accept for your disappearance, so for that reason we will be postponing the next issues of ‘The Ace’ indefinitely.

I hope, Fukuro-san, for both your sake and mine, that when you return you are able to fix this. For now, I wish you the best recovery.

Take care,

Akaashi Keiji.

From:  [ kuroo.tetsurou@setmedia.co.jp ](mailto:kuroo.tetsurou@setmedia.co.jp)

To:  [ akaashi.keiji@setmedia.co.jp ](mailto:akaashi.keiji@setmedia.co.jp)

Subject: Re: ‘Nekoma’ Issue #76

Akaashi-san! There’s been an accident.

I’m sorry I completely disappeared, but me and Fukuro Kaku were involved in a small plane accident. I’m sure you heard — Skymark flight 415. We’re alright, thankfully, but we’re both in the hospital and Fukuro’s in kind of a ‘coma’.

As soon as I’m able, I’ll get back to you with both mine and Fukuro’s storyboards.

Thanks,

Kuroo.

*

SET Media’s higher-ups do some digging and find out the hospital the two authors are being kept at: Enfuukai Hospital. It’s located in Adachi, which isn’t too far from Shibuya — about an hour by public transport—, so Keiji volunteers to go visit them. His Directors aren’t too happy with the idea, probably because they think it’d be best if someone speaking went on behalf of the company, but Keiji insists: he’s the main editor responsible for the two authors, and Kuroo only disclosed this information to  _ him _ .

Keiji takes the subway.

He wonders if he should buy flowers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized the phrase I most write is "Keiji nods" which... is not good lol so please bear with me!  
> Alsoo they'll "meet" in the next chapter so look forward to that <3


	3. such a funny way to fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shorter chapter, from Bokuto's POV!  
> I did my best everyone... lemme tell u my midterm is tODAY and i haven't done ANY studying lol hopefully y'all are doing better than i am...

Here’s how it starts: Bokuto Koutarou is fifteen years old, and he nearly dies.

Truthfully, he’s not sure what happens, because he was sleeping and tired from a long day of a lot of emotions. He awakens with a scream — his mom’s —, and it hurts him and immediately he startles awake.

His mom doesn’t scream anymore, because she knows how it makes him feel. The fact that she’s screaming now means something  _ has _ to be wrong.

Soon enough, his dad and his older sisters are getting out of their rooms, too, and together all four of them head to the kitchen, where they heard his mom’s shout.

“Mom?” Koutarou asks, vision still unused to the dark. “What’s going—”

“Don’t turn on the lights!” The woman shouts, desperately, her breath short as if she’s running. “Kou-kun, don’t turn on the lights, okay?”

Koutarou frowns and starts walking towards the kitchen. There’s a bad smell and it’s really hot suddenly, so he tells his two sisters to stay put.

“It stinks of gas,” his dad says, following him. “What—”

A scream.

Koutarou sees fire.

*

Koutarou is in a strange house, in a stranger’s room.

There’s no one there, but it’s nighttime. Maybe it’s an abandoned house, or maybe the family is out for a vacation?

The room has a nice bed, and there are some posters on the wall for a few of the manga he enjoys. There’s a TV in the middle of the room, and it looks like the one Koutarou has in his house — the one his parents say is broken.

He moves towards it. Something about it pulls him to it, because now he’s dreaming, so his parents can’t tell him what to do.

First, Koutarou tries to turn it on, but nothing happens after he pushes the power button. 

After his third time pushing the stupid button, he sits down on the ground and takes a deep breath. This isn’t supposed to  _ happen _ .

He’s supposed to turn it on and watch that show he really likes until his parents come get him from this stranger’s house. If the TV doesn’t work, then what is he supposed to do as he waits for them? If only there were someone here to talk to…

Kou wants to cry, but he can’t, because he’s in a stranger’s house.

So he does the next best thing and tries to get the TV to work again. Even if it doesn’t work, he thinks, then at least he’ll be doing  _ something _ and not just sitting around waiting.

The TV is dusty and old and he makes a face as he tries to find another button to push. If not a button, then maybe some kind of place to put batteries in? He doesn’t know how these things work, it was always his sisters helping his dad with the TV… 

“Oh,” he says.

Maybe it’s not plugged in?

Kou takes the chord and follows it to the socket, but that’s not it. The TV is plugged in.

He grunts in frustration and wants to scream. This isn’t  _ supposed _ to happen!

The TV blinks.

It might have been wishful thinking, though. Koutarou approaches the TV again, anger in his movements, and stares at the screen.

“Blink,” he says. “Come  _ on _ . Blink again. Turn yourself on.”

The stupid thing does no such thing.

Kou groans and gets in real close to it. He presses the button again, countless times, but nothing really happens.

His face is really close to the screen now. He can feel the tiny hairs in his cheeks being attracted to the static, and it gives him chills.

“Please!” He says. “Work!”

He shuts his eyes and, with everything he has, Kou presses the button one last time.

He opens his eyes.

The screen is still grey.

Kou shouts and moves to slap the TV screen in anger.

And he falls forward, into the screen, and into the television.

*

What happened was that his mom had been cooking them all an early breakfast — at 3 a.m. —, and she’d accidentally left the gas on.

Her first shout was the result of the first fire. She’d tried to put it out with the cloth and it only got worse, and then Bokuto and the others had distracted her and the fire only got bigger.

By the time their youngest had made it to the doorframe of the kitchen, the damage had already been done. Being extra sensitive to tactile sensations, Koutarou immediately passed out. His mother, thankfully, only got out with very few third-degree burns.

Their kitchen and part of their living room were all taken out by the fire.

“I’m sorry,” his mother whispers, over and over again, as they drive back home a day later. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“We’re alright, mom,” Kou’s older sister, Hiromi, says, squeezing their mother’s hand. “That’s what matters. That’s all that matters.”

Three months later, their mom is finally sent to a psychiatric hospital in Tokyo, after a year and a half of waiting in line for her turn. Japanese psychiatric health care is lacking in many aspects, but Koutarou is glad his mom will be taken care of properly.

Her condition — bipolar disorder, his dad tells him — is treatable, and soon enough she’ll be well and healthy and she’ll come back to them.

For the meantime, though, Kou keeps going to school, keeps watching his shows and reading his manga, keeps acting as if everything’s normal.

He keeps acting like he doesn’t feel a part of him missing.

*

At 27, Koutarou lives his best life as an author, an artist, and a writer.

‘The Ace’ is his biggest accomplishment. Life may have put him down a couple of times, but it was all worth it for his masterpiece, his characters, his  _ work _ .

When Akaashi-san from SET Media —  _ whoever _ he is, because for some reason the stuck-up asshole refused to speak to Kou from the start — tells him about the Executives’ decision, he’s rightfully devastated. His anger and despair are enough to make him forget all of the ‘social norms’ he’s memorized by heart, and he sends the email without even sending it to Kuroo for him to look over.

The whole point of becoming an artist was to be able to do whatever he wanted, however he wanted, whenever he wanted. That last part had been taken completely out of the equation by SET Media’s harsh ‘one-issue-a-week’ policies, and now that first part would be quickly disappearing, too. They want him to kill off Toshio-san, just as his arc is about to start?

Who knows if even the second point is safe, now. Next thing he knows Akaashi-san will be calling him and asking him to come in to work, to work in an office and to report to the Directors and the Editors and the who-knows-what-else… and then his freedom really will be completely gone.

He  _ won’t _ let that happen.

The trip to Okinawa had been planned for some time now — almost a year. He and Kuroo will go back to Kou’s hometown, visit Hiromi and Kana-nee, just like he does every other year. They gave him enough time to get used to the idea, to prepare himself and to allow him to actually be excited about the trip.

Now, it can’t have come at a better time. At least there, he’ll be with some of his family members, and he’ll have all the support he lacks in a metropolis like Tokyo. Plus, if Akaashi-san asks him to meet personally, then he’ll have an excuse not to go.

Koutarou takes only his laptop and his notebook. Kuroo himself packs his clothes and other necessities, because he’s a city boy and doesn’t really know anyone from Okinawa, and Kenma wishes them good luck on their trip.

They make it to Okinawa just fine, contrary to the many scenarios Kou had created in his head. He doesn’t do well with planes, but he takes medication that makes him fall asleep for the whole ride, so it’s not like he suffers much.

But then they land, and he realizes something is wrong.

“I didn’t warn mom,” he says, as soon as they see Hiromi and Kana-nee in the distance, waiting for them. “I need to tell her.”

Kuroo just frowns. “I can send the place an email, if you want—”

Kou shakes his head, feeling bad. He can’t believe he’d forgotten about his mom… if she waits for him that Saturday and he’s not there to visit her, what will she think? There’s only been a handful of instances since she was hospitalized that he failed to go see her.

“We need to go back,” he says, and at first he’s hesitant to say it but once it’s out he knows for certain that that’s what  _ needs _ to happen. “I… I’m not… we have to go back, Kuroo.”

Kana-nee and Hiromi reach them, but both can probably tell something’s wrong. For one, no one is smiling anymore, despite the fact that they haven’t seen each other in a year. And they know Kou well enough to know when he’s not well.

But, while he may not be in a stranger’s house nor with people he doesn’t know, he’s still in public. Those are the three conditions, so he doesn’t let himself cry.

“Kou-kun,” Kana-nee says, her wide eyes concerned. “What do you need?”

All three of them keep their distance from him, and they start moving him away from other people and closer to the doors, with the fresh air and the white noise.

“I wanna go back,” he says, quietly. He doesn’t want to inconvenience them, but he’s just realizing now how much he  _ doesn’t _ want to stay in Okinawa for a week. “Please.”

His sisters share a look, and Kuroo takes out his phone.

“I’m on it,” he says, not even upset. “I’ll get us tickets for the next flight to Tokyo… shouldn’t be too long.”

Kuroo has seen Kou during some of his worst moments, and it’s a talent of his to just  _ know _ when he’s feeling too much. This was learned, of course, as everything is in life, and Kou really appreciates having the other man in his life.

“I don’t…” Kou says, looking down at his fidgeting hands. “I just don’t wanna leave mom alone.”

Hiromi nods. “Kou-kun, do you wanna sit down and watch a video?”

Kou nods, and they walk to the empty seats. She carries his bag while Kana-nee searches for a video on her phone.

They sit down, and she gives him her phone and he puts on her earphones and just… allows himself to relax. He’d had plenty of time to prepare himself for this trip, but now that it’s happening he just doesn’t know  _ why _ he doesn’t feel right. 

He  _ should _ .

The video takes his mind off everything, giving him the space and the quiet he needs to just… stop.

Once the video ends, he puts on a documentary on owls and just watches them fly and watch and move. They’re so beautiful… he’d like to be able to see them in person one day. Their big eyes are a bit creepy, but he was once told by his mom that his own eyes looked like an owl’s, so he doesn’t judge.

Owls are the reason he chose his pseudonym:  _ Fukuro Kaku _ . He’d been a bit embarrassed about it at first, but now he’s proud of it: the Horned Owl. Watching these birds fly gives him a warm feeling, but not in the bad way: it’s like, the good way is when he gets warm from the inside — in his stomach and his muscles and his heart —, and the bad way is when he gets warm from the outside — from the heat and the temperature and the  _ emotions _ .

Once the documentary is over, he takes out his earphones and stares at his sisters and Kuroo. The three are looking at something on the latter’s phone.

“How’s it going?” Kou asks.

Kuroo smiles at him. “We board in three hours.”

The shorter smiles back, relieved. Three hours is a lot of time, but it’s also time he can spend with his sisters — which was the whole reason he came in the first place.

As they catch up, Kuroo calls Kenma and leaves them alone for a while. Hiromi tells him about her husband and her job as an engineer, and Kana-nee tells him about her job as a high school teacher, and he tells them about being Fukuro Kaku.

“I’ve caught up to the latest issue,” Hiromi says, smiling. “It’s really good, Kou! It’s getting very exciting now… I can’t wait to see where you take the characters.”

He smiles. It’s always nice to know the people he loves are reading his work, and he’s glad to know they’re enjoying it. After all, he always writes with them in mind.

Eventually, they move on to talk about other things. They tell him about his old school, his old friends and neighbors, and he gets a weird feeling in him. He doesn’t miss Okinawa very much, and his life in Okinawa… he loves his sisters, and he loves his dad, but he can’t be like that anymore. Being here, where he used to be, it makes him feel wrong. It makes him feel like he isn’t who he’s supposed to be, like he’s both himself at 15 and not at the same time. He’s Bokuto Koutarou, and in Tokyo he’s also Fukuro Kaku, but now… now he’s nothing.

He’d thought that, by coming here, maybe he’d find that missing piece of himself. After all, Okinawa is the last place he remembers being actually whole, and he hadn’t visited in so long… he’d hoped, wanted,  _ dreamed _ .

“Ah,” he says, suddenly. “Where’s the TV?”

Kana-nee blinks. “The TV…?”

“Obaachan’s TV. The really old one.” Koutarou feels something like anxiety build up inside him. “Did you keep it?”

Kana and Hiromi share a thoughtful look.

“I thought it burned in the fire?” Hiromi says. “When you were 15…”

Koutarou nods and tries not to feel too disappointed. There’s nothing an old broken TV could do for him, anyway, that his sisters and friends hadn’t already done.

“Why are you asking about our old TV?” Kana asks, kindly. “Was there something on it that you wanted to watch…?”

He shakes his head. “I’m just curious.”

Kuroo comes back not long after that, a tired look on his face.

“We should be going.”

Kou nods and hugs his sisters. When he initiates the contact, it feels almost good — like being warm from the inside, but from the outside this time, too. Whenever he hugs them they get really happy, and he likes making them happy so he likes hugging them.

“Thank you,” he says to them.

He and Kuroo go through security and head straight to their gate, and it’s only once they’re safely sat down and away from his sisters that his friend starts complaining about all the money they spent. Kou laughs it off and promises to pay him back, but it doesn’t wipe the pout off his face.

“I miss Kenma…” Kuroo says.

And maybe it’s the excitement and comfort of finally going home, but Kou then takes his friend’s hand and thanks him for coming with him. He loves Kuroo, deeply, and he appreciates all that he does for him — even leaving Kenma back in Tokyo for a few hours.

Kuroo’s eyes soften. “Of course, Kou.”

“I love you,” Koutarou says, and the other’s eyes widen. “You’re my best friend.”

*

When Kou wakes up, there’s no one in the room with him.

Instead, he finds a little note by the side of his bed:

_ Kou, _

_ We were in a plane crash. We survived.  _

_ You still owe me ¥ 16,420. _

_ Love ya man, _

_ Kuroo. _

He wonders how long he was out. The note doesn’t look dusty and old, so he figures it can’t have been that long, and he finds a fidget spinner next to it.

Once again, he thanks God for Kuroo. His best friend knows him well enough to know that he’d hate to be overwhelmed with doctors and nurses and family members and friends as soon as he woke up. 

Soon enough, though, just waiting around for someone or something to happen starts making him feel bad, restless, anxious. He fidgets and breathes but there’s only so much one can do without a phone and without  _ anything _ , really.

He tries to stand up.

He fails in standing up, but succeeds in getting someone, even if it’s just the nurse.

“Bokuto-san, please stay put.” The girl helps him back on the bed without touching him. “It’s great that you’re awake, though. I’ll tell Suzuki-senpai—”

“How long was I out?” He asks, and then remembers himself. It’s rude to interrupt. “I’m sorry. Go on.”

The nurse, a short and skinny blonde girl, just smiles. “Ah, it’s no trouble, Bokuto-san. You’ve been in a recovery state for… about six days.”

Kou gapes. “ _ Six _ days?”

Oh, no. He’s probably missed his mother’s visit — who knows what she’ll be thinking if she doesn’t see him. Who knows how much she’ll scold him the next time he sees her.

And that’s not even counting his job… Akaashi-san will most definitely kill him.

“Oh,” the nurse says, as if remembering something. “Just a day ago, your friend Kuroo-san woke up and told me to tell you that he’s taking care of your emails for now. He knew it would stress you out, I guess…”

Thank.  _ God _ . For Kuroo.

“I’ll call Suzuki-senpai now,” the nurse says, and leaves him before he can ask her for something to keep his attention.

Kou closes his eyes and messes with his fidget spinner once again.

*

After the doctor takes his vitals, after Hiromi and Kana-nee visit him and cry, and after Kuroo and Kenma stop by and give him an old laptop of his to spend his time, Koutarou finally manages to get some alone time.

And it’s all ruined by yet another guest.

By this point, it’s fair to say that he’s  _ annoyed _ that his work keeps getting interrupted. First the plane crash, then the whole ‘six-days-in-a-coma’ fiasco, and then his friends and family. Not that he doesn’t love them, but by the second conversation he has with Dr. Suzuki, he’s already socially exhausted.

His sisters, having travelled to Tokyo to come see him, stay in the hospital. They tell Kou they’ll be just outside his room if he needs anything, giving him his space, and despite his efforts at getting them to go to his house and get some rest, they both refuse. Kuroo and Kenma drop by and leave, quickly and efficiently, so Koutarou is ready to face them head-on when Yachi-san, the nurse, tells him he has another visitor at night.

But it’s not either of them.

“ — don’t know you,” Hiromi is saying to the guest, whom Kou can barely see through the half-open door. “If you tell us your name—”

She stops talking, suddenly, and Kana gasps.

“Oh, I’m sorry—”

Both women are standing in front of the door, stopping the guest from coming in, but when Kana gasps she shifts and Koutarou gets a glimpse of dark curly hair before she’s moving back again.

“We still don’t know…” Hiromi says, fiercer than her sister. “I’m sorry, but we won’t let you see him.”

A beat, and then Kana: “Well, a fake card could easily be faked these days…”

A sigh.

“Who is it?” Kou shouts out, and wishes he could at least stand. “Why aren’t they saying anything? Do I know them?”

“Eh…” Hiromi sighs, and then pokes her head into his room. “It’s this man. His card says he’s Akaashi Keiji from SET Media…”

Kou frowns. “Akaashi-san…”

He curses inside his head. There’s no other reason the man would personally come other than… other than if he came to fire him.

Kou is half-tempted to lie. He’s never lied to his sisters before, so he’s sure they’d catch him right on, but if it’ll keep his happiness for one more day then…

“Let him in,” he says.

He’s never lied to them before, and he’s not about to start now.

Hiromi gives him a look like ‘Are you sure?’, but steps aside.

Koutarou isn’t ready for the man who steps into the room.

Really, he’d been expecting a man in his mid-30s, going through a midlife crisis and with at least a receding hairline. The way Akaashi-san spoke in his emails never gave him any impression the other would be around his age.

And yet the man in front of him is very much his age, and is very much… attractive.

He has curly dark hair that’s short enough to make his face look young, and his skin is the perfect tone of brown and his eyes are the shape of love.

Koutarou is mesmerized. He’s transfixed. He’s… 

Akaashi-san is so  _ beautiful _ .

And then the man is moving his hands in front of his face, making fast and complicated gestures Kou can’t possibly keep up with.

“Eh,” he says, and Akaashi-san looks at him with wide eyes. Kou looks away from them. “I… sorry, are you mute?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like the overall message I try to write into all my fics is that friendships and (good) familial relationships should never be in the background... I know with most fics the main focus is on the romance, but I love it when the friends and the family members also have their own separate storylines and lives and dynamics with the main character.  
> Appreciate your friends and (non-shitty) family, y'all <3 (and sorry to keep you waiting for yet another chapter... but it'll be worth it i promise ily <333)


	4. see your face and know i've made it home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES I HAVE FINISHED MY MIDTERM and am back!  
> Just a slight cw: Bokuto has a breakdown in this chapter, so if it makes you uncomfortable skip from "Bokuto-san is having a meltdown" to "Keiji leaves the room". It's very brief, but do be careful!  
> And yes, this is finally the chapter where they 'officially' interact lol

Keiji doesn’t recognize Bokuto-san right away.

Primarily because he sees Fukuro Kaku-san first, and because he’s not expecting to see anyone else. Bokuto-san is in a completely different world, and there’s no reason why the white-haired friend in his dreams should be the same man as the one he’s currently visiting.

The name ‘Bokuto’ only comes to mind when he realizes that: a) he’s started signing automatically, without even considering the other’s JSL-fluency, and that b) Fukuro-san doesn’t understand what he’s saying.

Keiji gapes and stares at Fukuro-san. His hair is short and spiky and white-and-grey, and his eyes are golden and round, and his shoulders are broad and strong.

“Or… are you deaf?” Bokuto-san asks, still avoiding Keiji’s gaze and frowning just slightly. “So that’s why you didn’t wanna call me…”

The woman with short grey hair beside Keiji clears her throat as he shakes his head, signing, _I am mute_ , and hoping she understands. She doesn’t.

“‘Call you’?” She asks Bokuto-san, her eyes confused. “Kou, what’s going on here?”

The older stares at her. “Akaashi-san is with SET Media.” He chances a glance at Keiji. “You… you’re here to fire me, aren’t you?”

Keiji doesn’t know what to reply. His mind is replaying all of his dreams in his mind, all of the forgotten encounters and all of the emotions that came with them, and it’s hard for him to truly grasp what he’s feeling: is it confusion or excitement or dread or fear?

He shakes his head, answering Bokuto-san’s question, and frowns. This was much easier when the other understood JSL.

“Here,” the younger girl, also with grey-white hair, says. She gives him a piece of paper and a pen, and he looks at her gratefully. “Me and Hiromi will… leave you two to it.”

“ _What?_ ” The older girl, Hiromi-san, asks, indignant. “We absolutely will _not—_ ”

The other drags her away, out of the hospital room, barely giving Bokuto-san another glance. Keiji stares at the older with disbelief.

He looks the same — exactly like how he did in his dreams. It shouldn’t be possible… 

“Eh…” The other says, slightly flushed, which is probably due to Keiji’s stare. “Akaashi… san. So you’re n-not here to fire me?”

Keiji shakes his head.

“Then why are you here?” Bokuto-san frowns, staring at the wall in front of him. “And how did you find me? I never told you my real name…”

The younger man frowns and writes it down on the piece of paper: _You told me to come find you_ . He hesitates, then adds: _Bokuto-san_.

“I did?” The other’s eyes widen. “Wait, if I sent you an email or something, that was all Kuroo — he has access to my password and everything, ‘cause he’s the one that usually writes my emails — the professional ones, at least —, and I didn’t really mean…”

He drifts off and Keiji writes something down: _It was not by email._

This just seems to make Bokuto-san even more confused. “But then…?”

Keiji writes: _Are you alright, Bokuto-san?_

“ … Yeah,” the older says, confused and distracted. “Akaashi, why are you here?”

_My Directors sent me to check on you. Kuroo-san emailed me about your condition, and I came here right after work._

“Ah.” Bokuto-san blinks, and something in his eyes darkens. “ … The Ace. _Shit_.”

Keiji shakes his head. _It is alright, don’t worry about your work. This is the first time you’re passing the deadline, we can just delay our next issue—_

Bokuto-san reads what he’s writing and starts making a low noise from the back of his throat. It startles the other and he stops writing, and when he looks at the older he finds himself stuck, not knowing what to do. 

Bokuto-san is having a meltdown.

The older’s noises start getting louder and his fingers fidget and squirm and scratch at his own fist, and Keiji panics when he sees a bit of skin coming out under the other’s nails. Before he can do anything, however, Bokuto-san starts hitting the back of his own head against the bedframe, his eyes shut tightly.

“Kou-kun!”

The two girls from before enter the room, and Keiji flinches away from Bokuto-san. Neither one pays him much mind, Hiromi going to open the window and the other pulling up something on her phone.

Keiji leaves the room but stays just outside, desperate and terrified that he might have hurt Bokuto-san in any way. He paces around, wondering what happened and how he can fix it and also wondering if meeting Bokuto-san was fate or just, in current circumstances, an unfortunate coincidence for the latter. The thought crosses his mind that he never should have come in the first place, but he quickly shakes it out.

After what feels like ages, one of the women — the older one, Hiromi-san — leaves the room and stares at Keiji.

_I’m deeply sorry_ , he shows her, written on the paper. _I didn’t mean to make him upset._

The woman sighs. “It’s not my job to make you feel better about yourself, Akaashi-san.”

Keiji nods and writes: _I understand. Still, I am very sorry for any trouble I caused._

She stares at him, probably analyzing the pros and cons of continuing to indulge him. Keiji himself knows he’s done nothing to earn her trust or respect, but still he doesn’t want his first encounter with Bokuto-san, the literal man of his dreams, to end like this.

He writes: _Please allow me to speak with him. I will do my best to not upset him again_.

“Maybe your best isn’t enough, Akaashi-san.” Hiromi-san sighs again, but she doesn’t sound angry at him. “What will you do if he gets upset again?”

Keiji thinks. _I know Bokuto-san doesn’t like to be touched, and I know he gets overwhelmed with sensations sometimes. I know he likes to shake his hands because it calms him down, and he also likes to sway his body from front to back in order to feel better_.

“How do you know that?” The woman frowns and moves closer to the door, protectively.

He thinks fast. He doesn’t want her to think he might be some stalker fan of Bokuto-san’s, but he also doesn’t want to tell her the truth.

_I might be wrong about this, and I apologize if you think me rude for asking in this way, but is Bokuto-san autistic?_

Her face gives nothing away. “What makes you think that?”

_I have an autistic family member_ , he writes, lying. _They exhibit some of the same behaviors as Bokuto-san._

Hiromi-san hums. “I see.”

She doesn’t elaborate, but her posture un-tenses. Keiji thinks he’s, at the very least, made her less wary of him, and he hopes this will mean that he gets to see Bokuto-san once more.

“I’ll let you talk to him,” she says, and he feels some relief enter his body. “I don’t know what your relationship to Kou is, and he’s never mentioned you to us, but I think you deserve to explain yourself, at least to him.”

The woman moves aside from the door but doesn’t open it for him — yet another one of her challenges. If Keiji wants to see Bokuto-san, then he’ll have to pass by Hiromi-san’s piercing gaze and open the door himself.

So he does.

Kana-san is standing away from Bokuto-san, who’s rocking back and forth in his bed but not as violently as before. When she sees Keiji enter, she gives him a small smile and tells Bokuto-san that she’ll be leaving them alone.

The man takes a deep breath and stares at her leaving as Keiji thinks of what he can say.

As soon as she’s gone, though, he doesn’t get the chance to apologize.

“I’m sorry,” Bokuto-san says, looking down at his hands and rubbing them together, almost ashamed. “I didn’t mean for you to see that.”

Keiji shakes his head frantically and writes on the new piece of paper: _There is no need to apologize, Bokuto-san. I am deeply sorry I said something to upset you._

The other reads it but doesn’t look convinced. “ … Okay.”

Keiji hesitates. For all she’d been upset at him, Hiromi-san hadn’t exactly told him what he could and couldn’t say — which boundaries he could and couldn’t cross. He’d lied about having an autistic family member, which he felt bad about, but in the end he feels like he _does_ know at least _some_ things about interacting with Bokuto-san.

He’s overthinking this. Bokuto-san is his friend — at least in his dreams, anyway —, and he needs to communicate properly with him if he wants to ever become more than just his editor.

_Is it alright if I ask you why you were so upset?_

“Ah…” Bokuto-san rubs his hand on the back of his neck. “It’s… I mean, I’ve never missed a deadline before now, and I also missed a visit to my mom and didn’t water my pl— but it’s okay!” He quickly shakes his head from side to side. “Kana-nee says it’s been exactly a week since I left, so it’s exactly like nothing changed. Today’s still Thursday, just like it was when I left, so I can start my schedule from the start— I’ll work on the next issue, and I’ll visit mom on Saturday, and I’ll water my plants when I get home.”

_That’s right_ , Keiji thinks. _Bokuto-san doesn’t like sudden changes in his life_.

In his dreams, where he didn’t think in words but in images, it was so easy to just accept that Bokuto-san had all these peculiarities, because they made him who he is. Just like Keiji is mute and spoke in JSL and Bokuto-san understood him somehow, Bokuto-san was uncomfortable with being touched and avoided eye contact and Keiji understood him. He didn’t need a reason to be like that, and neither did Bokuto-san; it was easy.

In real life, Keiji is mute and Bokuto-san is autistic and those things _matter_.

They matter because they mean that Keiji can’t communicate with the other properly unless Bokuto-san learns JSL, and because they mean that Bokuto-san won’t open himself up to Keiji, because the older _doesn’t remember him_.

And that’s the worst part.

_Is there anything I can help you with?_ , Keiji writes. _Unfortunately, I don’t have a car, but I can make some food for you and your friends._

“Ah, Akaashi!” Bokuto-san exclaims, his eyes wide. “It’s okay. I just wanna be alone and go back home, to be honest…”

Keiji nods. _Alright, Bokuto-san. I’ll leave you alone for now, but I am glad you are feeling better._

He takes a step backwards and bows at Bokuto-san.

“Wait,” the older says, and Keiji stops. “Eh… Akaashi, have we met before?”

Keiji stares at him, surprised, but looks away when he notices the other is looking a bit uncomfortable. He doesn’t know what to tell him— the truth or a lie?

_Perhaps we have, Bokuto-san_ , he writes, slowly and deliberately. _Why do you ask?_

Bokuto-san doesn’t answer him, quietly frowning off into the wall, and Keiji waits patiently for him to come back. Spending time with the older is pleasant and it makes him feel warm inside, despite the silence and the awkwardness of the situation. He’s still glad to know that the Bokuto-san in his dreams is very much the same as the Bokuto-san in real life.

“Is it okay if I email you?” Bokuto-san asks, suddenly, his eyes golden even in the dark. “I want to… to know you, Akaashi.”

_Of course, Bokuto-san._

“I won’t be as formal as Kuroo, though.” He smiles sheepishly. “The way I type is different, and Kana-nee said it’s a bit rude sometimes, but I swear that’s not what I mean!”

_That’s alright, Bokuto-san._

“Ah, that’s great, Akaashi!” Bokuto-san’s smile widens, and if Keiji hadn’t recognized him before, he definitely would have now: he looks stunning. “I’ll send you an email later, then— as soon as I get a new laptop and everything, ha.”

Keiji nods a small smile and leaves, and doesn’t stop smiling until he gets home.

*

Keiji is in his bedroom.

That old, ratty TV is on, the static loud enough to block out all other noises, but not enough to hurt. He wonders who turned it on, if not him: maybe his parents visited and forgot to turn it off, but they’d never shown any interest in the TV. Maybe someone tried to break in and pressed something when they tried to carry the damn thing away, and got scared and ran away.

It’s dark, but he doesn’t know where he was before this.

He knows he wasn’t here, otherwise he’d know who turned on the TV. Maybe he was out grocery shopping, or at work, or, most likely, he was at Tsukishima’s or Shimizu’s for movie night. He can’t, for the life of him, though, _remember_.

If he’s being honest with himself, the television scares him.

A part of Keiji is tempted to text Tsukishima or Shimizu, but he has too much pride for that. Besides, it’s late enough that he doesn’t know if they’d even be awake at this time.

He takes a step forward and watches his reflection through the screen. It’s faint, and it chills him to stare at his own dark eyes. His are delicate and creepy and sharp and nothing like… like _Bokuto-san’s_.

Keiji takes another step forward and his reflection disappears.

On the screen, static. 

Fear fills his heart and his body and it makes him tremble as he raises his arm, wanting to just press the button so this can all be over.

Quickly, almost recklessly, he presses the power button and then springs back, because what if it explodes or burns up or something?

Nothing happens: the static continues, undeterred, as if nothing had happened.

Keiji sighs. At least now he knows it’s safe.

He repeats the movement from before, this time making sure to press with all his strength before jumping back, but still the damn thing doesn’t budge.

He glares at it and walks around it, trying to find another button— or just anything that will shut it off. For the love of God, he just wants to turn it _off_.

That horrid noise it makes is getting in his head, messing with his brain.

But there’s no other button, and there’s nothing at all except for that stupid power button on the front, and the screen is still on no matter how many times he pushes and presses and wears it out. It keeps going.

Keiji steps back and crosses his arms and glares at it. Maybe if he curses it inside his head enough times, it’ll spontaneously shut itself off with the power of his anger.

Ten minutes pass, and no such luck.

He steps forward and, this time, his eyes don’t leave his own eyes, reflected on the screen. They’re dark and hateful and scary, but it’s all he can do to stay committed.

He reaches out with one hand, but rather than aim for the button, he touches the screen…

And his fingers pass right through it.

Keiji falls into the screen, so naturally that he almost can’t stop himself.

With his left hand, though, he manages to get a hold of himself at the very last minute. He holds himself at bay on the side of the TV, his entire upper body being pulled into the screen.

What he sees inside, though…

At first his mind doesn’t catch up to reality, not understanding what’s going on, but when it does he makes sense of a person, sitting alone in an empty white emptiness.

The pull of his body into the screen and especially towards this person is incredibly strong. Keiji is just lucky he occasionally works out.

The person has faintly grey hair, but that’s all he can make of them. Everything’s blurry and confusing and his vision is swimming in all the _white_.

Keiji desperately waves his hands around in the air, and eventually this catches the person’s attention. They look at him, and nothing about their face or body reminds Keiji of anyone… and yet.

He still feels like he knows them.

The person stands up and approaches him, carefully. Through the blur, Keiji sees them stare at him and wonder and _hope_.

He reaches out as far as he can, his fingers outstretched, and tries to communicate with his body: _please take my hand_.

After another second, the person takes a final step forward. Their hair, he sees now, is short and straight, covering part of their eyes.

There’s a white streak in their hair.

They take Keiji’s hand, and the two of them travel.

He’s back in the garden.

The person in front of him changes, their hair becoming whiter and taller, their shoulders broader, and suddenly they become Bokuto-san.

Keiji watches, helpless, as fake-Bokuto-san approaches him — except it’s not _him_. Fake-Bokuto-san approaches the fake-Keiji, the one who’s painting the flowers red and turning them into roses.

It’s just like in his dream, except this time he’s watching from the sidelines.

The dream shifts, but this time a loud shriek is heard.

The person — fake-Bokuto-san, whoever they may be — is screaming as reality shifts around itself, the garden twisting and fading like a movie from the 80’s, and fake-Keiji disappears. The colors all blend with each other, making it impossible to tell one thing from the other, and fake-Bokuto-san shuts his eyes and kneels down and then he becomes so _young…_

He looks like—

Fake-Keiji is back, but this time he’s 14 years old. He lightly taps fake-Bokuto-san on the shoulder and startles when the boy, about a year older than him, flinches away.

Fake-Keiji looks concerned for the other, and fake-Bokuto-san stares up at the other with awe and wonder. He jumps up and smiles at fake-Keiji, looking excited and so much like the real Bokuto-san, and Keiji wonders what is real and what isn’t.

He remembers this dream.

Or was it his childhood?

He can’t remember.

He knows he’d been startled by a white-haired boy with a loud voice, and he knows that, despite it all, he’d grown to quite like the other. This was one of the earliest dreams he’d had, and Bokuto-san never introduced himself but somehow he knew they would become good friends after the older promised him he’d learn JSL just for him.

The dream shifts again, but this time there’s no screaming because fake-Keiji remains there as their scenery becomes darker. Both fake-Keiji and fake-Bokuto-san grow in an instant, suddenly becoming adults much like they are today.

It’s _that_ dream again.

The one with the plane and the explosion and fake-Bokuto-san saving his life, except he’s not fake-Bokuto-san because he’s the Bokuto-san that Keiji knows, the one he’s hung out with for the past seven months, so if anything the real Bokuto-san should be the _fake_ -Bokuto-san—

He blinks.

Everything ends, suddenly.

There are no planes, no explosions, no streets and no night and no reality.

It’s just him and Bokuto-san, in the white emptiness.

The other is crying, screaming, and it looks a lot like the real Bokuto-san.

“Don’t leave!” He cries. “D-don’t _leave_!”

Bokuto-san is rubbing his hands on the ground, rocking back and forth even with his knees bent on the ground. Keiji tries to approach him, but he finds that he can’t.

When he looks down at himself, he sees that he’s _not there at all_.

It fills him with a new sense of emptiness he’d never felt before, but before he can dwell on it he sees Bokuto-san pick himself up and walk away, and then _he_ disappears, too.

Keiji is only left in that bright emptiness for a second, at most, but it feels like so much longer. It sinks in that he might be dying, or that he might be dead already and just doesn’t know it, and that this might be purgatory or even hell. He’s not sure what he believes in — his mother was a Buddhist and his dad never cared much for anything —, but he’s sure _this_ is the worst possible scenario.

The dream shifts, and he’s extremely relieved to see Bokuto-san appear once more, and this time the dreams come one after the other, not giving him the chance to think: the one where they opened a restaurant together and accidentally burned down the entire kitchen; the one where they were princes in different kingdoms and saved the Dragon King together; the one where they were criminals working against the system and ended up getting arrested; and all the ones where they’re just… them. Existing.

_Together_.

Towards the end, Bokuto-san gets weaker. His frame gets thinner, his hair frailer, and he starts resenting Keiji. It feels so real, and it’s all Keiji can do to not cry.

Even so, when their dream ends — the one where the older tells Keiji to find him — and the emptiness reappears, Bokuto-san still cries.

He cries and screams so hard he nearly fades, but Keiji won’t let him do that— not again. He gets as close as he can to Bokuto-san while maintaining their personal space, and when he realizes the other can’t see him, he gets slightly closer than that.

When his hands pass right through the other’s shoulders, he feels his lungs close up, his heart stop beating, his vision go cold, and he thinks _no I can’t die like this please no_ —

And then Bokuto-san gets up, and Keiji’s legs work automatically. He follows the taller man into wherever, feels them both disappear into the brightness.

The white becomes gold.

The gold is also red, and green, and black, and blue. 

The gold is also a lot of other colors, because they’re not _nowhere_ — they’re _somewhere_.

This _somewhere_ looks a lot like Shimizu’s room: clean, with everything neatly stacked and lined up, and a lot of decor. This room’s decor, however, is much more eccentric than Shimizu’s, with miniature cars and posters of movies and random books and manga, and the furniture is all very colorful and there’s a desk with a huge pile of paper on it.

In the corner, there’s a big empty canvas, neatly organized paints surrounding it.

Bokuto-san sits down in front of it and, slowly, he starts painting.

Keiji wants to watch him, is curious as to what he’s doing, but deep down he thinks he already knows.

There’s only one dream missing, one dream he didn’t see, and it didn’t make sense a few seconds ago but now it does.

He blinks, and again he’s standing in a different room.

Fake-Keiji is standing in front of him, and in front of _him_ is a big painting: a red flower, a blurry background, fading into itself.

_What more can I do?_ , the title reads.

Bokuto-san approaches fake-Keiji, a big smile on his face, and real-Keiji starts crying.

If this is death, or hell, or purgatory, then he’s confident that he won’t be able to take much more of this. Whatever test this may be, he’s certain he’s going to fail.

Bokuto-san painted for _him_ , and comforted _him_ , and saved his life countless times, but all of those things — all these acts of selflessness and trust and _love_ — never happened.

He dreamt everything, and even if he doesn’t die and he goes back to his life as an editor and he befriends Bokuto-san, it won’t matter. Because the other won’t remember, and he’ll _never_ remember, because those things _didn’t happen_.

And Keiji… Keiji _has_ loved.

He’s loved his family members, and he’s loved his friends, and he’s loved his exes and a few others, too.

And Keiji has _been_ loved.

He’s been loved by his family members, and he’s been loved by his friends, and he’s been loved by his exes and by other people, too.

But he’s never been loved like how Bokuto-san has loved him.

It’s more than the painting, and it’s more than their adventures, and it’s more than their _friendship_ . Keiji doesn’t know how to explain it, because it’s all of those things and yet it’s more than that: like the way Bokuto-san tells him all about his favorite things and gets a big huge smile on his face that shows his happiness and his trust in him; or the way Bokuto-san initiates physical contact with him sometimes, even though Keiji knows it’s hard for him and these moments are rare, but he always feels amazing because he knows the other isn’t doing it out of any obligation, but because he _wants_ to; or even the cry of Keiji’s name on the other’s lips whenever they’re apart.

It’s all of those things that make him feel loved, and it’s all of those things that make him _love_ , in return. He _loves_ Bokuto-san.

The dream doesn’t shift, this time.

It ends.

It ends, and it leaves Keiji standing in front of his dirty old television, and when he looks around his room in search of that feeling again he never finds it, and he feels just a bit like a part of him is missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter left! I'll prob get it done by tonight and then it's a wrap!  
> Also idk if you can tell but I LOVE writing angst lmao... sorry y'all. It only lasted like a few paragraphs tho, and next chapter will be mostly fluff <333


	5. i am still painting flowers for you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case anyone didn't know: the title of the fic came from 'Painting Flowers' by All Time Low... an oldie but honestly such a cute song. Some plot points were also inspired by it!  
> Another chapter from Bokuto's pov -- and also the last chapter ;-;

Koutarou has known Akaashi for six months when he finally accepts the other’s offer to go visit his house.

It’s a big change, but it’s one that Kuroo and his sisters back home make sure he’s ready for when he finally accepts. Of course, he doesn’t tell them that he already knows and that he’s well aware of what it entails and that they don’t need to treat him like a child, because he knows they mean well.

He still gets annoyed when he’s about to leave his house and Kuroo texts him that ‘it’s okay to back out if you’re not ready’ and that ‘i’ll be here if you need me’.

‘I know,’ he texts back, because in the end his friend is just looking out for him and doesn’t deserve to be treated with anger or annoyance.

After that, all he gets is a ‘have fun ;p’ and then he’s off.

He’s nervous, of course. Akaashi had been planting the idea in his head for months, practically since they’d met, but he’s only actually doing it now. It helped that he’d had so much time to prepare for it and plan and consider, but it’s still nerve-wracking.

Especially because it’s Akaashi.

His editor is a hard person to read, and that only makes it harder for Koutarou to properly understand him. After six months practicing, his JSL is decent but not perfect, and after spending so much time of his life getting used to ‘facial expressions’ and ‘tones of voice’ and ‘social cues’, you can imagine his frustration when getting to know Akaashi. The man doesn’t show much on his face and he can’t speak, so the only ‘cue’ Koutarou gets from him are his hands.

He enjoys it a lot.

With Akaashi, and with sign language, he feels free to express himself without worrying about making incorrect sounds and mispronouncing and stuttering, which are all things he’s struggled with in the past and is still learning to overcome. He likes the feeling of moving his hands and he likes it when he successfully signs something like how Akaashi does, because Akaashi’s fingers are beautiful and the man himself even  _ more _ so.

Koutarou is no stranger to attraction. He’s been with plenty of people throughout his 27 years, and he knows that Akaashi is attractive — not just to him but to other people, too. Even Kuroo himself had joked with Kou that he had little chance of actually dating him.

Inexplicably, here they are.

It’s not love yet, Kou doesn’t think, but it  _ can _ be. And that’s exciting and new in a good way and Kou wants to know what it’s like to love someone like Akaashi.

He’s been missing such a huge part of him, for so long, and Akaashi gives him a certain hope of fulfillment — of finally becoming whole again. Kou can’t wait to see what that feels like, and how it’ll happen, and when.

The only certainty he has, really, is that it’ll be with Akaashi.

When he arrives at the other’s apartment, Akaashi is already waiting for him outside.

When the man looks at Kou, his eyes widen just slightly. Kou can’t hide his smugness: he knows he looks good, knows his thighs look especially nice in his tight jeans, knows the eyeliner and the faint eyeshadow he put on make his eyes look spectacular.

“Akaashi!” He shouts, smiling wide. “You look great!”

Akaashi does, but he  _ always _ looks great, so Kou is kind of used to it by now. Tonight, he’s wearing his glasses and absolutely rocking them, and his long coat makes him look like a fashion model. His curly hair is especially curly, too, and it looks like he put on some lipstick.

_ You look amazing as well _ , Akaashi signs, smiling.  _ It’s great to see you. _

The two of them make their way to his apartment, Akaashi listening as Kou tells him about his day, and once they’re inside they take their shoes off and for a while they just… stay like that. Standing in silence, enjoying each other’s company.

Eventually they do sit down and start eating Akaashi’s amazing miso soup, before it gets too cold. Kou talks as he eats, and he’s comfortable enough with the other that he occasionally forgets himself and talks with his mouth full, but it’s okay because Akaashi doesn’t mind and he’s an angel. He’d made miso soup because he’d known that Kou doesn’t really eat foods that are creamy or that have such a strong smell or taste.

Kou tells him about the volleyball game he watched last night. He’d been surprised to find that Akaashi used to play as a setter in his high school, and he’d made the other promise to play with him and Kuroo and Kenma one day.

After they’re done eating, Akaashi teaches him some new signs, as he’s done every night now for the past six months. And then they wash their dishes and Kou relishes in the feeling of the fresh water in his hands, the pleasant body heat of his friend-and-potential-boyfriend beside him. This is the perfect distance, for him: not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel the other there and know that they trust him and respect him.

Though Kou has been with many people, not many of them were as understanding of his situation as he’d have liked them to be. Some were disrespectful, and some downright hateful, but he’s a tough person and he’d not given them any attention.

It’s only with Akaashi that he realizes he should have spoken up for himself, should have said something and not let them say such disrespectful and hateful things. In a way, Kuroo and his sisters and especially Akaashi have ruined him for anyone else: anyone else he meets will pale in comparison to them if they aren’t as respectful as them, which they probably won’t be.

After cleaning everything up, the two of them sit down on his couch and talk a bit more, about Akaashi’s job and also Kou’s job, and then Akaashi asks him about the prospect of writing an autistic character into his story.

“I don’t know how to,” he says, truthfully. “I’m scared. My… my experience isn’t everyone’s, and I’m scared that no one will like the character and then I’ll have to kill him.”

The other nods, a frown on his face.  _ If it makes you feel any better, know that I would probably like him _ .

Kou smiles. “‘Probably’?”

_ He’d need to treat Na-na-ko with respect _ , Akaashi signs, a wry smile on his face.  _ But yes, most probably I would enjoy reading about them very much. _

“Ah, thanks, Akaashi.” He glances down at their hands, close to each other, and reaches out to touch. The other gasps, just slightly, and quickly returns the touch. It nearly makes Kou shiver with fondness. “I’ll think about it, then.”

The conversation moves on, and then it reaches a silence and Koutarou is glad, because he’d been distracted by Akaashi’s lips for the past few minutes and he doubts he was being very good company for the other.

“Akaashi,” he says, his breathing uneven and way too fast. “Can I kiss you?”

The other nods, and Kou realizes Akaashi had also been staring at his lips.

Kou leads the way, approaching the younger with no hesitance, just… patience. The feeling of knowing you have all the time in the world with someone.

It’s new to him, this patience and quietness, but kissing is very much not. Before he knows it, he’s pulling Akaashi in closer, desperate to taste all he can of the other man. It’s a bit unpleasant, because they’d both been eating miso soup and hadn’t brushed their teeth, but it doesn’t matter because it’s the best kiss Kou’s ever initiated.

Akaashi kisses him with a lot of passion but also a lot of self-restraint, careful not to push any boundaries, and right now Kou loves him for it but soon enough he’ll need the other to do  _ something _ . They’ve known each other for six months now, and it’s longer than most of his past relationships… yet this is the first time they’re kissing.

Kou lets out little moans here and there, and he knows they’re affecting Akaashi. The tension in the air grows and grows and then they both pull away just as it’s about to blow.

Akaashi signs one word:  _ bedroom? _ .

Kou takes his time to answer. On the one hand, he’d love to take Akaashi to bed and treat him like the angel he is; on the other, however, he’s not sure he’s in the best state of mind to do something like this. He doesn’t want to ruin anything.

He sighs. “Can we just…?”

Akaashi nods immediately, not looking the slightest bit deterred.  _ Of course. I’m happiest when you’re happy _ .

Kou smiles. “I mean… we can go to your room. I wanna see it.”

For a very brief second, the other tenses. Kou notices it, because he notices everything about Akaashi and he’s always noticed a lot of things other people don’t. 

The other looks at him with a pleading look on his face and stands up and runs a hand through his messy hair. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are wide and he’s tense, still. 

Kou opens his mouth to ask him about it, but the other signs:  _ Let’s go _ .

He starts walking before the older man can protest, so Kou follows him with his head down and tries not to overthink things.

It takes them five steps to reach his room. Kou is almost scared to raise his gaze and watch Akaashi be uncomfortable around him, but he does it because it’s unfair to Akaashi, who can’t speak unless he’s looking at his hands.

Something about the bedroom is familiar, though.

Kou can’t think of any instance where he’d have been here, but he thinks probably the other showed him a picture of the room or something… though he can’t think of any reason why that would ever happen.

The light is a bit too bright for his taste, but he can understand why Akaashi would need it: everything else in the room is cold, dark. His bed is too big, his walls are black, there’s little to no decoration besides the painting on the wall: a snowy mountain. His desk is small and old and one of the cabinets has no opening, giving Kou a glimpse of the papers that are inside it.

More importantly, the thing that catches his eye is the large CRT television, right in the middle of the room. It’s standing on top of a small table, nearly too big too fit.

Kou frowns.

He’s  _ definitely _ been here before.

He can’t remember when.

He doesn’t know when he starts feeling like this — like it’s all going wrong, and he doesn’t know what’s happening or why and it makes him feel so small and weak and thoughtless, and he hates that Akaashi’s here seeing him like this. Kou feels his legs light up with every inch of fabric touching his skin, like it’s on fire, and it was a mistake to wear such tight pants and it was a mistake to even come here in the first place.

Akaashi moves, and when Kou watches him he realizes the other is opening the windows, just like his sisters do. The older rocks back and forth, his hands rubbing at each other just to feel something and to have something to focus on instead of the pain and the  _ feelings _ , but it doesn’t work as well as it should.

He doesn’t know  _ why _ this is happening. He never does, when they start, but over the years he’s read about these situations and he’s educated himself on what happens, so he knows the reasons: when something is out of the ordinary, when his senses decide to all turn on to 100% at once, when he’s uncomfortable and trapped.

Still, no amount of reading about it makes him immediately more aware of when it’ll happen. It nearly always comes as a surprise, and it always ends up ruining his day and making him feel terrible. Especially when it happens next to people he cares about.

Kou takes off his pants.

He takes off his shirt, too, and feels the wind hit his bare skin and it’s much more pleasant than the constraints of the fabric.

Akaashi has left the room and closed the door, thankfully, but when he hears Koutarou stop screaming he knocks on the door.

It takes him about seven minutes to get himself together after that.

He spends the entire time moving his hands and rocking back and forth, but much more subdued than before. It gets intense sometimes, but not always and not now, which is good. Not-intense means he can still enjoy tonight.

“I-I’m okay, Akaashi!” He shouts.

The other knocks briefly on the door, to show he heard, but doesn’t try to come in. Kou is both relieved and disappointed, because seeing Akaashi will definitely make things better, but right now he’s just… he needs to know  _ why _ .

It won’t do him any good besides satisfy his curiosity, but he  _ needs _ to know. Something about this room — not even the apartment, but just this room, and more particularly this  _ television _ — is oddly unsettling to him.

There’s a power button, but the thing is so old he doubts it will work.

Kou touches the screen. The hairs on his arm stand up, attracted to the screen due to the static. He’d read about this once, when he was very young and his family was still together and they still lived in their old house with the CRT TV. He’d asked his mom why his hair always did that, but she hadn’t known the answer.

Something inside the TV makes electrons, the negative particles, stick to the back of the screen, so it becomes negative too, and the front of the screen then becomes positive. The hairs are attracted to the screen due to the polarization done by the electric field around it.

It feels just like any other screen, and Kou is almost disappointed.

He runs his fingers through the glass, hoping it magically opens up for him, but no such luck. It gives him a tingly feeling in his fingertips, almost like he can feel the static, but nothing else. He holds both his hands in front of him, touching but not pushing the TV.

If he closes his eyes, the sensations get more subdued. The static stops working so hard, almost like it’s closing its eyes with him.

There’s a knock on the door and Kou startles.

A shock runs through his entire body, from his hands to his arms to his shoulders to the rest of his body, head to toe.

Akaashi peeks his head through a small opening in the door, and Kou tries to smile at him but he falls over.

He falls forwards—

—  _ into _ the TV screen.

Koutarou finally remembers where he knows this bedroom from.

*

Koutarou remembers  _ everything _ .

It comes gradually, slowly, memory by memory.

But first, he falls into the screen and into a whiteness so bright he has to close his eyes in order to function properly.

He’s shirtless and pantless and yet he still feels everything, so he doesn’t open his eyes. He keeps them shut, tightly, and gets on his knees and starts rocking back and forth again to calm down. If he can stop it from happening, then maybe—

“Kou.”

That voice.

“ _ Kou _ .”

He knows that voice.

It’s loud and obnoxious and it always gives him a sense of calm, because it’s his  _ own _ voice. All the memories he has of that voice are pleasant, because hearing himself talk always calms him down.

This time, it only brings a panic into his heart, and he opens his eyes in shock.

It’s  _ him _ .

Bokuto Koutarou, looking at Kou like he’s just as confused as him.

Bokuto Koutarou, but with grey, un-spiked hair. But with a skinnier frame. But with wider eyes and a lonelier smile.

Bokuto Koutarou,  _ incomplete _ .

He wonders if the other thinks the same about him, too.

The other him seems to have the same idea as him: they raise their hands. Kou raises his right, the other-him raises his right, too, and then other-him quickly adapts and raises his left.

They’re almost touching, and Kou knows both of them are asking the same unasked question: Is this okay?

He blinks, but other-him just keeps staring at him, his eyes wide and mouth agape.

“We’re different, aren’t we?” Kou asks.

“Maybe.”

They’re different, because they look different and they react differently and they feel differently. Kou is here, and other-him is there.

But they’re the same, too.

They’re the same because they sound the same and they think the same and they feel the same. Kou is here, but he looks in front of him and he’s also there.

He doesn’t know if this is real or if this is a dream or what. He knows that he’s seeing himself, wholly, for the first time, but this isn’t himself whole.

They’re two parts of the same person, and Kou is scared of what will happen if they merge. Will that feeling of incompleteness finally go away, or will it stay and then he’ll never know how to fix it? Will he stay the same Koutarou as now — the mangaka, the brother, the friend, the lover-of-Akaashi —, or will he become someone else?

Will he recognize himself in the mirror?

Kou swallows and he watches other-him swallow with him, almost like a reflection.

The whiteness is no longer bright. With himself in front of him, it’s like everything else is fading and the only object of focus is him, and  _ them _ .

Since they’re the same, they both lean their pinkies forward at the same time, and when they touch they both shudder.

Since they’re different, Kou keeps his eyes open while other-him lets his fall shut.

That’s when the first memory comes in: the garden, the palace, the blank flowers, the red paint. Akaashi, and him, and  _ him _ .

Other-him moves his pinky away, his eyes wide now.

“Did you feel that?” He asks.

Kou nods, and this time he surges forward with more than just his fingertips. He wants to know what happened next — he wants to know if that really happened.

He  _ needs _ to know if Akaashi remembers this.

When their entire pointer fingers collide, Kou remembers the second incident: Akaashi at 14, himself at 15, meeting for both the first and second time.

And then the memory ends, and this time other-him is the first to make the move, pushing their thumbs together, and as Kou remembers the time he saved Akaashi from a falling explosion, he wonders what other-him is seeing. Is he watching his own memories, of being a mangaka and Akaashi being his editor, or is he seeing something else — perhaps something completely unrelated to Akaashi?

After that, every touch and every collision is another memory of a dream, of an entire  _ life _ he’s missed. All of them with Akaashi.

Does it mean something?

Does it mean something that all of these memories have Akaashi in them?

Koutarou becomes one again, slowly, gently, memory by memory.

*

He takes Akaashi’s hand when it appears.

He’s pulled out of the whiteness and into the darkness, and he lands on top of Akaashi.

“Keiji,” he says.

The younger’s eyes widen.

“Can I kiss you?” Kou asks.

Keiji closes the gap between them this time, their lips interlocking in harmony. They’re closer than they’ve ever been, and for Kou it feels a lot like finding another part of himself.

*

Kou still isn’t comfortable touching others suddenly. He still has trouble pronouncing certain words, and he still has meltdowns sometimes, and he still has trouble keeping eye contact with other people. He still overshares, talks loudly, and doesn’t stop talking once he’s started.

He still notices little things that no one else does. He still feels a lot, for himself and for other people, and he doesn’t know how to describe these feelings but they still affect him like they always did.

Nothing about him  _ changes _ — not like he’d feared.

Kou is still Kou, in the way he’s always been Kou.

Keiji is still hard to read, and he still rarely smiles, and he still hesitates to talk about himself. He still pays attention to each and every word Kou says, and he still leaves him alone when he needs to be alone.

Nothing about Keiji changes, either.

The best part about being together — being  _ whole _ — is that neither of them feels like they  _ should _ change. Keiji is still Keiji and Kou loves him for it, and Kou is still Kou and Keiji loves him for it.

And they get married.

Not legally, of course, because Japan is still Japan and it also, unfortunately, doesn’t change in the three years they spend together.

The ceremony is rather a celebration, and it’s very quiet and hush-hush. Only a few people are actually invited: Hiromi and Kana, Kuroo, and Kou’s mom; on Keiji’s side, Shimizu and her girlfriend Yachi-san — who’s actually the nurse that worked in the hospital where Kou and Keiji met —, and Tsukishima and his boyfriend Yamaguchi.

Keiji wears a white shiromuku, looking absolutely gorgeous. Kou can’t help but gape as he looks at his soon-to-be-husband, the absolutely breath-taking man he’s marrying. With the eyeliner around his eyes, the red lipstick on his lips, and the pink blush on his cheeks, Akaashi Keiji looks devastating.

It’s the happiest day of Koutarou’s life.

And then they get home, after everything, and Keiji takes off his clothes and the two of them lie on their bed, married.

Kou had prepared their bed, had turned off the lights and lit everything up with scented candles, all for this moment — when he could look at Keiji and think,  _ this man is my husband _ .

But Keiji surprises him when he reaches out towards the bedside table and, from the small drawer, he takes out a rectangular, transparent container.

_ Happy anniversary _ , Keiji signs, a rare shy smile on his face.

Kou thinks he looks stunning.

He gives Kou the container.  _ I wanted you to. _ He stops, hesitant.  _ If you want. _

“Kaashi,” Kou says, staring down at the colors inside the container. “What’s this?”

Keiji takes a deep breath and starts again:  _ If you want, whenever you want, I thought you could paint. On me _ .

“Paint?” His eyes widen and he gasps. “You mean— paint  _ you _ !”

_ Yes _ , Keiji signs, and he looks embarrassed but  _ why is he embarrassed? _

“Kaashi! Of course!” Kou shouts, his heart filling with what can only be love for the other man. “This is body paint, right? It’s safe and everything?”

The younger nods.  _ It’s safe _ .

Koutarou lays it carefully down on the bedside table and kisses his husband. The two of them fall asleep intertwined in each other.

A week later, when Kou feels up to it, he takes his gift and paints flowers all over his husband’s naked body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay storytime: this fic idea came to me like in 2018 and when I started writing it, it was originally a Klance (voltron) fic ksdhjfljahf I had the main ideas like the old TV and the whole 'interacting through dreams' that I wanted to write about, but honestly I had no idea where it was gonna go and so I never finished it.
> 
> Fast forward 2-3 years and here we are. I think now is a point in my life where I've developed as a person enough to do everything I wanted with this idea... which sounds pretentious lmao but I'm just happy it finally got done! Idk if anyone could tell but I was really inspired by Latin American authors like Julio Cortázar and Jorge Luis Borges, who have this sense of surrealism in their works. They've both touched on the issue of the 'other self', too, which is something I wanted to incorporate into this story too! Overall I love the whole soulmate idea, but I think also we should be allowed to focus on ourselves too -- in loving ourselves first. That's where the whole 'being trapped in the TV' came from, and when Bokuto finally finds himself it's also thanks to his own actions and not entirely because of Akaashi.
> 
> ALSO: I didn't want to create a narrative where the disabled characters are magically 'cured' and their disabilities are no more, because that's ableist af. I really wanted to get this point across: finding yourself and falling in love happen to disabled people, too, and it doesn't make them any less disabled. The way Bokuto was 'incomplete' was because he was literally missing a part of him, and becoming 'complete' doesn't mean becoming 'able-bodied', it means finding yourself and loving yourself and loving others too!
> 
> ANYways:  
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting and kudos-ing and I hope you really enjoyed <3


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